


A Lover and A Fighter

by luneur



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Sparring, Sparring or Fighting as Foreplay, Swearing, Tending to Wounds, minor blood and injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luneur/pseuds/luneur
Summary: Brasidas continues to surprise her.
Relationships: Brasidas/Kassandra (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	A Lover and A Fighter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> Set some time soon after they meet in Korinth. Title borrowed from a later mission set in _The Fate of Atlantis_. I hope you like this <3

He is bleeding.

This, Kassandra notices as Brasidas takes a step back, a low, guttural noise falling from his lips. She does not sheath her sword, nor does she change her stance. Instead, Kassandra grips her weapon confidently and lunges forward.

Their swords clash, the sound of steel on steel reverberating all around them. Steel, the secret weapon of the Spartans. Kassandra marvels at the way it decimates an enemy’s softer weapon of iron or bronze.

Perhaps they should use something less dangerous, less sharp, for their sparring.

And yet, here they are.

There is more blood, she notes. It is beginning to pool on the ground beneath where Brasidas stands. Kassandra directs her gaze over it, tracing the red trail up to where it drips from Brasidas’ inner thigh. By the gods, how did she manage to catch him _there,_ of all places? She gasps, swallowing hard. It is impossible to look away now she’s cast her eyes upon the thick, musclebound limb. It makes her salivate, and she is hungry for him, so eager for his touch.

Kassandra has slept with plenty of people, and she’s used to getting what she wants. But she’s never met anyone who turns her on while they’re sparring, and it is a fucking revelation.

Brasidas continues to surprise her.

Fighting, she concedes, is rather like fucking. It is raw and visceral; a very real and intimate interaction between two human beings. And when she spars with Brasidas, Kassandra does not feel human – he makes her feel like a Goddess.

Brasidas shoots her a dark, brooding look. She wonders, briefly, if he can read her mind. Maybe he knows her resolve is diminishing, not because her body is tired, but because its thrums with desire.

He darts towards her; eyes narrowed in concentration. Her competitive instinct kicks in. She silently vows to show him no sign of weakness. Kassandra dodges his attack, and instead, counterattacks commandingly. Brasidas has no choice but to back up against the wall, and Kassandra makes a show of placing her sword on his shoulder, indicating that if this were a real fight, she would just have dealt him a clean, deadly strike.

“Stupid _Maláka_ ,” Brasidas growls, gritting his teeth.

Kassandra cannot hold back her laughter. Brasidas never used to call anybody a _Maláka_ , not until he started spending time with her. It still amuses her to hear the word come out of his mouth.

“Kassandra! Do not laugh at me,” he implores her.

“I’m sorry.” She takes a moment, catches her breath. “But you know as well as I that you should never take your eyes off an opponent.”

“Perhaps that was the problem,” he replies softly. “I _couldn’t_ take my eyes off you.”

Kassandra’s cheeks start to burn, and suddenly, she finds herself unable to respond. She thinks of men like Alkibiades, with their skilled and eloquent words, and how shamelessly they will use their theatrics to coax a potential lover into a tryst.

There is none of that with Brasidas. Just a simple look or a quiet confession from him, and Kassandra finds herself a quivering, over-excited wreck.

“You are wounded,” she says stoically, though inwardly, she is reeling.

“It is barely more than a scratch.” Another brooding look from him.

“The blood beneath your feet tells me differently.”

“Well, you are the one who inflicted it.”

“It was completely unintentional.” The corners of her lips twitch with a smile when she thinks about its location.

“I certainly hope it was.” And he, too, is smiling, but with something more than humour. “I wish for you to tend to it, Kassandra. I wish for you to tend to…me.”

She needs no more encouragement.

Stealthily, they head back inside the inn, and to their shared room.

“Sit,” she tells Brasidas, watching him wince as he lowers himself onto a well-worn couch.

She approaches him slowly, armed with a cloth and cheap wine. Kassandra is not a healer, and she doesn’t possess any herbs. Her paltry supplies will have to suffice.

Brasidas removes the armour from his torso, and his chest piece. She hears the clang of metal as they drop on the floor. The blood has stopped flowing, but his leg is coated in it. She kneels beside him, starts dabbing away with the wine-soaked cloth.

“It is as I thought,” he says impassively. “A small scratch can cause a lot of bleeding. You barely touched me, Kassandra.”

She narrows her eyes, places the cloth directly over the cut, and keeps her gaze steady as Brasidas gives a little yelp of pain.

“What were you saying, Brasidas?” She grins.

“You are teasing me,” he complains.

“No,” she says, running her hand along his thigh, stopping just short of his loincloth.

It is just as she thought – he is already hard.

“This…” She palms at the growing bulge, creating a sudden friction that makes him gasp. “This would be teasing you.”

“Kassandra…”

“Let us thank the Gods I did not strike you an inch or two higher with my sword,” she whispers, looking him up and down.

“Indeed.” Brasidas tries to keep his face still, but his lips part, and a low moan falls from his mouth.

Kassandra knows her hands are working their magic on him, that the torturously slow way she strokes Brasidas through the thin layer of fabric will soon be enough to make him come on its own.

“I need to fuck you,” he groans, losing all his inhibitions.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she whispers, speeding up the pace of her hand. “I did as you asked and took the Monger out quietly. At least allow me this triumph.”

He does not argue with her.

Suddenly, her armour is the heaviest of the burdens she carries. Kassandra relieves herself of it as quickly as she can, sending it, and her undergarments, flying onto the floor.

Brasidas stares at her in awe, in wonder. When he looks at her like this, she feels like the most powerful woman in the world.

“Can I touch you?” He asks softly.

“It is… polite of you to ask.” She barely suppresses a laugh. No one usually asks her for permission, but she finds she appreciates the gesture. “Yes, Brasidas. You may touch me.”

One of his hands roams her sides, the other traces a breast. He sighs contentedly. Kassandra leans in and presses her lips to his, moaning softly. His mouth is hot and wet against hers, and Kassandra allows her tongue to venture inside, to taste him at last.

“You smell like the sea,” he whispers hotly into her ear.

“I’ve spent too much time aboard the _Adrestia_ ,” she retorts.

Brasidas kisses her again, his lips becoming more insistent. Kassandra rips away at the remaining garments covering him, and finally, he is naked, and hers for the taking.

She marvels at his long, thick cock and the way it twitches in her hand as she squeezes the head.

“Kassandra, please.” He makes a strangled sound of frustration.

She pushes him down on the couch, pinning his hands down with hers. Their eyes meet, and she finds that Brasidas’ glint with longing. He does not need to beg – his body does it for him.

Kassandra releases him from her grip and straddles his hips. She stares again at his flushed, rigid cock and figures that if Brasidas doesn’t get inside her soon, he’s going to lose his mind. She’ll probably lose hers, too.

She takes him in her hand, guides him towards her.

“My _Gods_ , Kassandra.”

Seconds ago, she was aching for him, now Kassandra is hit by waves of sensation as he pushes inside her, filling her so thoroughly. This is as close to Elysium as she imagines she’ll ever get.

She lets her deft fingers trace the swell of muscles on his chest, brushes his broad shoulders. Kassandra starts to ride him gently at first, but her lust is like a fever, and she can’t refrain from picking up the pace and reveling in the friction.

He is deeper inside her than he’s ever been, she thinks, careful to position herself so that when she grinds against him, the shaft of his cock hits her clit. Brasidas utters incoherent words under his breath; all Kassandra can do is moan so loudly that anyone else in their immediate vicinity will most certainly hear them.

She wants more. She needs this to be harder, faster, more vigorous.

“Support my hips,” she tells him, directing his hands.

He is strong enough to fuck her from his position underneath her then, and she doesn’t stop him. Kassandra can feel her orgasm building, the heat flowing through her body as they fuck as though their lives depend on it.

Brasidas slows first.

“What are you doing?” She asks, panting heavily.

“I’m going to come,” he moans.

“I want you to.” And she finds that, as much fun as this is, she genuinely does.

“But this feels so good, I don’t want it to end.”

“I’m sure we will manage a repeat performance,” she says. “Next time, you can make me come twice.”

“At least twice.” Brasidas grins.

She will remind him of this vow.

Kassandra tightens her hips around him and watches as Brasidas’ eyes go wide, and his jaw drops open. She feels him come with a violent shudder, feels the rush of warmth as he fills her, and hears the moans of unadulterated pleasure fall from his lips.

When he’s finished, he does not take a moment to collect himself, nor to catch his breath. He grabs Kassandra, and they roll over, changing positions on the couch. She stares up at him, mesmerized.

She feels giddy, like a sailor who’s not yet got his sea legs, as Brasidas plants quick kisses along her collarbone. His beard grazes her smooth skin as his lips make their way down her chest. She moans loudly, half from anticipation, half from impatience – she wants her orgasm, and she is like a woman possessed.

Finally, she spreads her legs for him, and tangles her fingers in his dark brown hair. By the Gods, her chest is heavy with pressure, her body pulsing with need. He flicks his tongue against her clit, she feels it throbbing as he teases her more with his clever mouth.

“Oh, fuck.”

It is all she manages to say as he licks up and down in a blissful rhythm. She is almost embarrassed by the way she twitches and writhes beneath him, the needy noises emanating from deep in her throat. Her body has betrayed her – it has shown Brasidas exactly how much she needs him.

This is the sweetest torture she has ever endured.

Kassandra comes fast and hard. She cannot stop her body jerking back, nor the insanely loud moan falling from her lips. She feels her orgasm pulsing, waves of pleasure shooting through every nerve-ending in her body. Lights blur at the edge of her vision, until she closes her eyes and tries, in vain, to catch her breath. 

Brasidas lies against her. They stay like that for a while. Kassandra closes her eyes, and she finds she is willing to let sleep take her.

“Shall we spar again tomorrow?” Brasidas asks her, his voice low, his tone serious.

“Absolutely,” she whispers in reply.


End file.
